Changed For The Better
by strawberrieNinja
Summary: Shameless Drift/Wing pwp oneshot. I just want them to have really happy cute sex...


**Warning:** Hey, uh, this story has no plot. Just Wrift sex. Sticky. I'm not a writer, I just think about robots a lot u/u I just want Wing and Drift to have really cute happy sex. All I want…

It's a what-if story where Wing is somehow not dead, and Drift reunites with him during his Lost Light escapades.

**Pairing:** Drift/Wing

**Rating:** M (oral)

"Dri—ft!" The two-syllable word tumbled past his lips just before his helm hit the berth, dermal plating stretched wide in a jubilant smile. "_Mmmm _mmmm!" he squealed, biting his lip.

White finials scrubbed Wing's inner thigh as an ex-ventilation sighed against his valve hatch.

This was new. This was rich and new, a milestone Wing could scarcely believe. "Drift, are… are you really going to…? You wouldn't rathe—"

"Shhhhh," The breath tickled his interface cover and Wing sighed. "Of course this is what I want." Drift whispered. "Just lay back and enjoy it. Let me make you feel good." Lithium-grey lips kissed his leg slowly in reassurance.

Wing suppressed a shiver as he murmured his assent.

Drift's engine purred like a handshake closing a deal, like a kiss sealing a promise. "Relax," He pressed his dermal plates against the valve cover and started his engine, sending a tingling vibration rippling through the metal there. An elated squeal prompted him to lick all around the seams. Oral lubricant caught in the crevices there, his tongue alternating between ghostly light and insistently firm.

Wing was curious to see how far he could try Drift's patience. He let the mech lap demandingly, wondering if Drift would resort to begging or force.

Drift's denta caught on the manual hatch and tugged lightly, questioningly. "Winnggg," A few more swipes of his glossa. "Tease," he accused.

"Okay," Wing breathed playfully, "Go ahead." He couldn't help smiling because even an impatient Drift was still foremost concerned with his consent. Blue optics met his briefly before Drift's helm dipped and he felt teeth on his manual hatch. The pressure stung, but not for long. The denta pressed in and tugged the cover open. Wing's vents exhaled a hard gust of air as the invited glossa sampled the taste of his valve rim. It tickled, hesitant—no, cautious, curious. Wing's first thought was that Drift must not do this often, being who he was, reluctant to display any signs of submission, even in love. His second thought was, 'maybe he's nervous because it's me.' Wing wondered, was he really that special to Drift? To this angry little Decepticon-turned-Autobot? Was he so special that Drift was nervous he would not be good enough? Wing had a few more thoughts cross his mind, but they had less to do with Drift's motives and everything to do with Drift's current actions: the flat of his glossa pressing into his rim, then outer walls, then pushing _in_. Wing moaned softly, EM field thrumming to life with his cooling systems, his smile never leaving his face.

Drift took that moment to draw back, catching Wing's gaze somewhat shyly, "Tell me… if I do something you don't like?"

And it was so cute and considerate Wing could not help but giggle. "Got it," he affirmed.

Drift, he thought, had matured so much. He was different, but all for the better. Right before Wing was the empathy he had tried so exhaustingly to teach Deadlock, a shyness and willingness to please replacing the haughty indifference Wing remembered. This was the real Drift, the Drift he had seen hiding behind the violence and bravado. He was finally blossoming into himself, into who he was meant to be. It made Wing's spark sing with pride just knowing this.

A small, anxious smile was his reply from Drift, the white mech ducking his glossa back into the enclosed heat between Wing's legs. He stuck the appendage in deep, nose bumping Wing's pelvis, flicking the valve's ceiling with the tip of his glossa and tugging out in sharp motions.

Wing's pinions flared happily and fluttered. Drift let out a low moan as the jet's lubricant hit his glossa, swirling it all around to coat the inner walls and twitching calipers. He drew back to nibble the rim and anterior walls before sinking his glossa back in, sucking and slurping where his top lip met Wing's rim. The jet's fans hitched up to a higher level as Drift spread his lips over as much anterior metal as they could while still keeping his glossa snug within Wing's valve. He groaned hungrily when he felt calipers squeeze hard then flutter around him. Wing was making breathy noises, wriggling his hips up, his skirt panels brushing satiny against Drift's cheek. All too happily, Drift continued. Wing's sweet spot seemed to be so far back that only his glossa-tip could reach. He growled, straining to reach deeper.

The sentiment as much as the sensation made Wing trill, thrusting his hips up in abandon before he remembered it was not good manners to smother Drift like that, and began to ease them back down. Contrarily, at the rolling motion of Wing's pelvis, Drift took the opportunity to snake his hands up underneath Wing's aft. Rather than concede to Wing's politeness, Drift dug his digits into Wing's hips and hugged it tight to his face.

Wing could not help the shuddering moan that bolted from his vocalizer. The rush of being pulled in, accepted wholeheartedly like that made his spark spin. Wing had expected their interfacing to be rough at first, expected to be unintentionally hurt by Drift's wildfire passion, driven too hard or forced into submission. He had imagined he would have to be patient, gentle with Drift, temper the angry mech's turbulence with love and softness, slowly teach Drift that being vulnerable—accepting a submissive role while making love—was nothing to be ashamed of, that it could actually be very enjoyable. Yet here was Drift offering something precious while asking nothing for himself. Here was Drift willingly and ardently focused on another's pleasure, putting that before his own—no, making it his own. He was enjoying the simple, sacred act of making someone happy. Wing was so overjoyed he could have laughed. He found himself hooking one leg over Drift's shoulder and grabbing at his finial with a hand. A pinch on Drift's fin turned into apologetic petting, smoothing over the white enamel with a giddy sigh. Drift had readily braced himself against Wing's weight, burying his glossa in Wing's valve with rough rotations of his head, twisting his glossa round and round the valve walls and igniting his engine for added sensation. Wing's keening only made Drift press in harder, screw his helm around faster, and rev as loudly as he could to send the strongest vibrations to that sweet, precious valve in his mouth.

As much as Wing appreciated tenderness, he was not above a bit of rough loving. Drift's directness and feral edge had always been very attractive after all. Wing was certainly sturdy enough to take it, and Drift was built to deliver.

Eventually, Drift needed to pull back to get his bearings, swiping his glossa over a sensory node cluster on Wing's ceiling just inside the rim, practically touching it.

"Ooooooo~" Wing crooned long and loud.

Another sweet spot.

Drift grinned as he licked experimentally at the nodes there, noting which angles wrought the most musical response from his lover. Wing's moaning became a steady flow of sound as Drift let his glossa jab and softly tickle his new discovery. Wing meanwhile relished the racecar's attentiveness. When Drift tried sucking on the nodes Wing jolted his upper body up off the berth, curling in on himself with a shout as his hands scrabbled erratically for purchase.

"Aa_ahhh!_ _Yes!_" he howled, propping himself up on his elbows and then rising to lean back on his palms. "Oooooh, _Drift_," he cooed, followed by wordless sounds of appreciation. His legs quaked as his servos all tightened up in anticipation of overloading. Their tangled EM fields heated with excitement, Wing's mounting arousal igniting Drift's field with abandon. Like his glossa, Drift's field bathed Wing, stroking him, joining him,_ loving_ him, striving so fervently to meld into Wing, to become one unified glorious being.

Drift lifted hazy optics up to his lover, glossa moving on to swirling around the node cluster, teasing delicately and hard enough to make Wing whimper and pant with need. He was frankly impressed that Drift had enough patience or restraint to tease him like this, to draw this out. With unheralded gusto, Drift shoved the flat of his glossa into that sweet spot and shook his helm rapidly back and forth, promptly earning a startled shout from above—a shout that melted into a purr and then something like a moan or a failed word. He could feel a hand clinging to his helm, massaging the top, his cheek jewels, his finials. Digit-tips dug into the top ridge of his finial and raked all the way down, making him groan in pleasure and lust.

Drift had to pause to wrangle in his libido, distracting himself with licking up wayward rivulets of valve lubricant around the rim and trickling south. Hearing Wing like this, his telltale moans and trembling frame and –Primus!- _fluids_ all telling Drift how much he was enjoying this, was almost too much to handle. The warm honey optics, the mouth plates parted in rapture—joyful through it all, and all because of _him_—was wringing out such a holy level of completion and purpose Drift felt he might swoon. Wing was here, with him, for him, and actually allowing himself to be touched and explored. That anything so pure and gorgeous could ever want any part of him left Drift humbled and aching with gratitude. That was Wing. That was always Wing. Welcoming, open, eager to share his joy of living with others was Wing, even to soiled, lost mechs. Shameless, faithless mechs like Drift.

And there they were: Wing vulnerable and at Drift's mercy, and Drift straining to be the wonderful person Wing saw in him. How badly he wanted to live up to those expectations, to be worth something to someone. Thus he ignored his base programming, that primal urge to take all he could from anyone vulnerable, because nothing would ever be given him freely. Drift had to steel himself against simply pinning the jet down and sinking his aching spike into that slick, delicious valve. That was not why he was here.

Wing seemed to be catching his breath, his panting leveling off to a consistent hum of cooling fans. Drift surmised Wing thought he was done, cleaning up Wing's interface array as he was. He caught the feigned smile covering Wing's disappointment and lingering want. Wing would not ask for more despite his own needs.

"You're," the Knight panted, "You're being so good to me."

Drift shook his helm, deliberately catching Wing's valve as he did so, earning a shudder. "You deserve it. I've wanted so long…to thank you, to show you how much you mean to me, how much I learned from you." His optics dimmed reverently, "I would give you anything you ask. I want to—I need to—make you happy."

"So I'm paying you with smiles?" Wing grinned.

Drift smiled back. "You don't pay anything, but I will accept smiles as tips. I'll also accept," he kissed around Wing's valve, nuzzling his lips into the scorching metal, "Moans, cries of ecstasy," Wing laughed. "That too. Laughter. I'll take what I can get." His ventilation gusted over Wing's entrance.

"Still very opportunistic, I see," Wing remarked casually, stroking Drift's helm, as if his spark was not thundering and cooling fans rumbling, as if he didn't want Drift so badly his every electron ached.

Drift shrugged, "I'll take whatever I can get," he repeated, then lunged in for that sweet spot. Wing gasped once, then again as he watched Drift's first digit slide smoothly into his valve. Drift's glossa worried the sensory nodes at the entrance while a second digit snuck in to scissor the clenching inner calipers. Wing purred at the stern look of concentration occupying Drift's facial plates in between long moans and cries of ecstasy, adoring how consumed the other mech was with bringing him pleasure, and adoring how good it felt to be touched, loved, wanted. Wing was rocking his hips into the probing digits for some time before he realized it. Drift hadn't objected so far, so he kept up the motion. Between the suction on his anterior nodes and the curl and thrust of Drift's digits, Wing could acutely feel his frame overheating—a sure sign of imminent overloading.

"Mmmmmmm…" he moaned, biting his lip, "Oooh, Drift, s'so good. Could you…mmm, faster?" He was almost afraid to ask for more than what Drift was already giving him, worried about making Drift think he wasn't doing a good enough job. But his request was met with enthusiasm, as if Drift had merely been waiting for that permission to be granted. Swift digits caught on his favorite interior nodes, igniting sensors there and sending intense messages of pleasure flying through Wing's circuits.

Wing barked a surprised exclamation at the sudden change in tempo, processor reeling. A mantra of, "Yesyesyesyesyesyes…" trailed out of his vocalizer until another loud moan cascaded shamelessly from Wing's mouth. He was shaking, "Ohh, Drift, right there! Right there!" arching up and latching on to Drift's bobbing helm.

A flood of short little moans finally crested with a yelp as Wing hurled himself onto his back, one hand still gripping tightly at Drift while the other covered him mouth in an expression of awe. He threw that hand back to Drift's helm and hung on tight.

"I…I-!" Wing stammered, arching his hips strongly into Drift's mouth, onto his fingers.

A fierce sigh from in front of him, a quick jolt of Wing's hips, the snap of and EM field, and then a gush of transfluid splashed Drift's chin. Gently he eased his digits out, licking lazily at the dripping anterior of the valve still in spasm. He could even hear the calipers clipping shut in reflexive aftershocks. At least he thought he could hear it. Wing's fans were on full blast, and he wasn't much better himself. He gave a final lick to Wing's anterior node cluster, just to watch the red and white mech gasp and shudder.

"Mmm, thank you," the jet whispered blearily as Drift climbed into bed beside him. Drift was shaking his helm, but Wing pulled him into a slow wet kiss before he could protest. Sucking softly on the tip of Drift's lips, Wing pulled away and met the blue optics that glinted opposite of his. "Do you…Do you want me to do the same for you now? Or…" his digit swirled over Drift's upper arm as his optics half lidded in a sleepy smile, "We could do something else. You can make love to me with your spike if you want?"

Drift was burning, his EMF still abuzz with unsatisfied want as he pet Wing's side absent-mindedly, "Don't you need a break?"

Wing nuzzled his forhelm crest against Drift's, "I don't think it would take you long to build my charge back up," he whispered slyly. "If you're interested," he added, plucking at Drift's bottom lip with the inside of his.

Drift grinned into the kiss, "Very interested."


End file.
